The Alepotrypa Scrolls
by The Girl That Lives By The Sea
Summary: In 1991, a set of marble vases containing 11 scrolls were found within the Southern Greek cave, Alepotrypa. The transcription of text within the scrolls contained in the vases took some time to complete, as it was written in archaic Greek. This was done at the local museum by a team of international archaeologists. The text written by the ancient author dumbfounded them all.


INCREDIBLE CAVE SPEAKS OF HADES AND PERSEPHONE MYTH – June 1992

On 16 July 1991, Doctor Matthaios Theophilus Constantinides of the Grecian Department of Antiquities opened and entered a previously unexplored section of the cave, Alepotrypa – which is said to date back to the Neolithic Age. Located in Southern Greece, the cave has been the site of many excavations. Archaeologists have discovered numerous tools, obsidian, silver and copper artefacts and pottery in its large chambers and crevices. Archaeologists have stated that it would take much more investigation before the entire cave would be explored.

Upon entering the new section, Constantinides made a startling discovery, and knew at once that he had made a significant find, for the newly-breached chamber held a sort of infrastructure, suggesting that this area of the cave must have been inhabited at some point in ancient history. It proved, however to be a very difficult excavation, as the chamber was extremely humid, devoid of light and had little oxygen to sustain workers for longer periods of time.

About a year after the chamber had been opened, Constantinides' assistants were photographing and dusting the excavation site when one of the workers found a hidden niche in which stood eleven sealed marble vases. The transcription of the scrolls contained in the vases took some time to complete, as it was written in archaic Greek. This was done at the local museum by a team of international archaeologists. The text written by the ancient author dumbfounded them all.

It was the brilliant initiative of Constantinides himself that the information contained in the scrolls be written in a style that would be accessible to the modern reader.

& . & . & . & . &

The First Scroll – Transcribed June 1992

&.&.&

I do not know what has prompted me to take up the written word. If I may take a guess, I should say that it is because I long to make a trip into my strange, tumultuous past. I am filled with nostalgia as I recall everything.

Fate has allowed me to have loved many through my long life. I cannot say the same for others I know, a lot of their stories are unlucky. I have loved gods, many. I have also loved mortals, many, but their stories will be left for another day.

I shall write about my mother. My beautiful mother with her bountiful arms and her lovely, warm stomach I used to buried my face into as a child. Had the Fates allowed the rivers of my destiny to run a different course, I would have spoken of happier thoughts of my father.

I have, however, only truly loved one man intimately during my existence. I am aware of my husband's legend, and the word-of-mouth stories told by the masses, bearing down from generation to generation. There are surprisingly true accounts of his nature, as well as some that are completely false.

I will say for the Lord of the Underworld what he never said for himself, that, despite his many faults and dark nature, it is possible for a woman to love him with all her heart and body, and I am that woman.

&.&.&

If all of mankind did not think the legend of Eternal Summer just an old folk's tale, I suppose my husband and I would have been the most despised creatures in all of history. I remember this Summer well. My mother had once explained it to me, and I recall her words fondly.

Everyone loved us, and we were always accompanied by friendly faces. Mama was very strict about our escorts, and I cannot recall a single male that attended our trips, and I, a little sprout at the time, was always perched on the hip of a nymph. That day, however, I was being particularly difficult.

"MY mama, MY mama," my little voice piped as hands reached out to her.

"I AM your Mama," a fat kiss on my cheek. "But I am everyone's Mama," she told me as she took me from the arms of a nymph-comrade. "I am the Mama who feeds the world… you are my little helper. All living things are my children, your brothers and sisters. We love all of them so we bless them with abundance and prosperity."

My childhood, as one can imagine, was idyllic. It was declared from the moment of my birth that I would inherit my mother's brilliant affinity for nature, and that I would be the one to decorate it for all to see. I provided the Eternal Summer with beauty and colour.

"Pretty child," she used to sing as she lifted me by my arms. "Why did Mama call you Kore?" I recall pointing my little hands, dirty with grass stains and soil, to the seemingly endless fields of grain and corn stretched out before us.

That was the Eternal Summer. It was a never-ending blessing bestowed on all things living by my mother and myself. There had been enough of everything for everyone. Abundance and prosperity! The world once knew a time of unknown riches. It was beautiful. My mama and I created the most wonderful things. From my hands sprouted lilies, roses, irises, wildflowers. I made them bleed shades of blue, crimson, white, gold. My hands created and painted these things intuitively. Fields and gardens and meadows sprung from me, limited only by the boundaries of my wild imagination. The world my artwork, and I was the little artist. My Mama was my best friend, and I hers.

&.&.&

I am reluctant to admit that I was often dirty and unkempt as a child.

"Where have you been playing?" My mother would laugh when she pulled twigs and branches from my hair. She could also never seem to remove the grass stains completely from my knees and elbows, and would often kiss my muddy feet without the slightest sign of distaste.

My hair was never combed or cut and styled as my mother often did. Knotty strands adorned my head, fashioned only by wind and whatever the weather endowed me with that day. I was also allowed to run about in the nude as much as I liked, always in the safe embrace that the female company I kept provided. Some of the local human children would sometimes befriend the strange, dirty little girl that would frolic in their fields, and we often spent the afternoons playing games or solving petty riddles. My mother did not mind this, and neither did the parents of the human children, for they were unable to see me.

By the time I reached adolescence, very little had changed. I still paid my appearance little to no heed, as my daily life was filled with only gentle admirers and kind words were spoken to me lest I become unhappy and invoke the wrath of my mother.

I remember the first time, however, that I did become self-conscious of my grubby hands, dirty face and wild wind-blown hair.

Sitting in the fields near what is now called Sicily, I was absentmindedly staring out into the plains while making daisies grow around my feet, an endearing habit of mine. I did this often, and those who know my character can acknowledge that while my body is present during this act, my mind is aeons away. Thousands of years later, I still do this.

"What a pretty sight," a deep voice brought me out of my reverie.

I looked up at the sight of the intruder that interrupted my vague meditation. He must have been someone very important, was my first thought. He wore a cloak much whiter and brighter than my own must have been, and appeared to be miraculously floating a few feet above the ground. His physique was immaculate, the shape and gait of someone who could only be a true athlete. Was he another god? A fellow deity? Even in my surprise was I awed by the possibility, for I did not meet many of them. Mama's opinion of Olympians are less than favourable. This unbelievable presence was looking down at me as I sat on the grass, dirty and dishevelled.

"The fields," he continued, his voice high and melodious. "Are they not a pretty sight?" His eyes were a strange, vibrant blue – eyes that shone with endless life force.

"Yes," I answered, mouth suddenly dry. "They are."

It was suddenly important to me not to appear a child.

"I have heard that the agricultural goddess Demeter wanders in these fields with her young child," he spoke again. "Do you know of this? Can you show me the way?"

"She is my mother," I murmured, then spoke up. "She is my mother; I will find her for you." A little too fast for my own liking.

"Demeter's daughter?" The stranger sounded surprised. "Then you are the daughter of Zeus, our glorious and revered king," he gave a slight bow as blurry images of my estranged paternal figure blew through my thoughts. "A rare honour indeed. I have not seen you at Olympus. Might I ask your name of you?"

"Kor… Kore," I corrected myself and tried to wipe a smear of dirt from my hand. My name sounded very insignificant in my ears, and by my appearance I probably did not look like a goddess myself. "I command the decorations of the fields."

"I am Hermes," he responded with an important air. "I am the messenger of the gods, and I bear news for Demeter, goddess of the harvest. I wish to speak with her on the orders of the mighty, the illustrious Zeus himself."

"She is not far from here," I stood up, wishing I could soar above the ground like the messenger god, although I am sure my fragile heart probably did.

For a moment he and I looked into each other's eyes, and something twisted almost excruciatingly deep into my soul, something so sweet – puppy love? Worship? The blossom of a maiden's first affections.

I do not remember much after that, for his words rang in my ears like the clear bells that echoed in the towns of the peasants we served: "Perhaps I will look for you in these fields another day, Kore, daughter of Demeter."

Mama treated me differently that night. If I had known, oh! If only I had known the depth of her jealousy for my attention, her bitter ungenerousness for my time. Yet, it was all rooted in a mother's love for her only baby. But how could I have understood it all? So young, so naïve was I, the adolescent Kore. I would not have been so heartbroken if I had known this all, for the messenger god did not come looking for me in the fields again.

I thought of him often after that day.

Discarding my ruddy garments, I nearly threw myself into the closest body of water I could find. My skin was nearly rubbed raw from the effort I made to cleanse myself of the dirt and grime my lifestyle allotted my young body.

I remember myself floating in the water, whispering secret prayers that somehow I would see impressive young Hermes again. The fates, however, had readied their colours, as I had unwittingly… quite accidentally… caught the attention of another suitor that day.

&.&.&

A/N: Kindly R&R. Thanks, all!


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